


Pass the Wine

by im95notdead (jncxo)



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Christmas, Christmas Dinner, Christmas Party, F/M, In which there are awkward meetings, Meet the Family, Non-superhero AU, and Thor is running for office because why not, and fruitcake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-05-01 06:38:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5195900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jncxo/pseuds/im95notdead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meddling parents and holidays do not mix. Darcy broods over ugly sweaters and Christmas cookies about how much she detests the Banner boys, and more so about how much she hates her mother's dismal matchmaking skills.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pass the Wine

**Author's Note:**

> This story started with a prompt from fanficy-prompts on tumblr: "Embarrassing parents forcing them to be friends, which blossoms into more." I actually started this in June, for some reason I've been feeling festive all year round. I'm working on a sequel, which at the rate I'm going, you will probably not see until next Christmas. Until then...

“Oh, _Darce_ , are you really wearing that?”

 

Darcy’s head whipped around at the sound of her mother’s voice before her gaze dropped to her sweater. It was red with a green Christmas tree up the length of her torso, and the tree was strung with little silver jingle bells. It was tacky and obnoxious and perfect.

 

“Mom, I wear this, like, every single year. All of dad’s stuffy work friends _expect_ it. It’s a hit once everyone’s drunk enough.”

 

Martha Lewis, feminine and proper and still gorgeous at 61 with a wavy silver bob and just the right amount of make-up to conceal her age, had rolled her eyes all of Darcy’s life at her loud and proud, attention-grabbing style. That Darcy had been adopted certainly played a part in it – she had once done anything in her rebellious power to establish her own identity – but she also possessed a hard-headedness, which was the natural-born cornerstone of her personality. Martha was still usually the first to defend Darcy’s unique ideas about her appearance to anyone with a critique, which made Darcy all the more puzzled why she suddenly disliked the Goodwill sweater she had once called “an ugly masterpiece.”

 

“Not everyone expects it,” she replied after a moment, turning her face away to open the oven door a crack and check the state of her potato casserole. Yep, something was up – Darcy could read her mom’s eyes like a book, and the fact that she was hiding was suspicious.

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Darcy asked, carefully hoisting herself onto the countertop, sitting between a tray of cheese and crackers and a plate stacked with sugar cookies she and Martha had iced the night before. Martha turned back to face her, leaning against the opposite cabinet, arms crossed and absently chewing her lower lip. “Mom, I swear to god,” Darcy said, her voice loud over the range hood fan, grabbing a snowman-shaped cookie with blue sugar sprinkles and taking a large bite out of its head. “Freaking tell me!” A few drops of spit and crumbs flew when Darcy spoke around the cookie, and Barbara’s lips pursed just slightly.

 

“The Banners will be here,” Martha replied simply.

 

Darcy groaned. Great. “I thought they had another party to go to! Damn it. Brian is always such an asshole.”

 

“They made arrangements to be here instead,” Martha said sternly.

 

“Just fucking tell me what’s going on!”  
  
“ _Darcy_! Language.”

 

“What? You’re kind of freaking me out here. I know he oversees dad’s department, but having him here is so stressful.” She paused. “Well, the only upside is I _know_ Rebecca will bring her pumpkin roll, and it is to die for.” She grinned at her mother, who merely shook her head. Darcy’s smile fell.

 

“They’re bringing Robert.”

 

Darcy stopped mid-bite. “Please tell me Robert is their needy Chihuahua that Rebecca carries around in her purse.”

 

Pursing her lips, Martha shook her head again before snatching up her oven mitts and pulling the door open. “Their _son_ , Robert. He’s a physicist – he’s got a doctorate.”

 

“How convenient,” Darcy said, watching as Martha pulled the dish of potato casserole out and set it on a potholder next to the stove. “So tell me, how in the world did you convince Brian to bring his genius doctor son for a poli-sci major? I met all kinds of sciencey dudes in New Mexico, and let me tell ya, they aren’t buying what I’m selling.”

 

“It’s mostly Rebecca’s doing, really.” Martha shut the oven and surveyed the food she had spread out on every open surface in the kitchen. “What am I missing?” she mumbled after a moment, squinting.

 

“Um, maybe a little more explanation as to why you’re trying to whore me out at your Christmas party? That would be pretty stellar.” Darcy shoved the last of the cookie in her mouth and pouted, just a little bit. Martha hadn’t done this in awhile – tried to play matchmaker for Darcy, only to present her with a guy who couldn’t lower his standards enough to tolerate her lack of filter and eloquence.

 

Martha was a real estate agent and dealt with lots of suburban West Virginians, while Darcy’s father, Russell, had been a civil engineer since before Darcy was born, and definitely held some weight in Huntington’s government. The Lewis’s were, for all intents and purposes, a nice, clean family. Then Darcy had to go and “get political” on them. Darcy had dreams of being, at the very least, an activist, a voice, an unstoppable force. For now… office grunt for her former boss, Dr. Jane Foster’s hunky fiancé, Thor Odinson, who had gained popularity in high-profile corporate cases at his family’s law firm and was now running for state office. (His mom was some kind of mythology nut.) Darcy lucked into the job, but three months into filing paperwork and she was already getting burnt out on the whole cubicle thing.

 

Still, being there gave her a sort of “this is it” feeling – at least, when Thor was bustling about, trying to prepare some sort of rousing speech. He always chose Darcy as his audience; her face was very readable, he said, and full of expression. Darcy just liked when he got excited about renewable resources and human rights. Those were the times she felt most empowered: giving him her honest feedback on his stance and his bullet points.

 

Still, discussing politics with scientists? Like trying to mix oil and water. (That was a science thing she understood the concept of.)

 

“You’re not a whore, Darcy,” Martha said after a moment, lifting a stack of plates into her arms. “Nobody will be paying you for today.” She gave the cutlery a brief glance, which Darcy took as her cue to scoop up the wooden tray and tromp after her mother into the dining room to set the table.

 

“Reassuring,” Darcy replied dryly. She eyed the silverware in her arms. The fork went on the left, right? Or, right? She did this same job every damn year and promptly forgot about it once all the place settings were finished.

 

“Rebecca is just concerned he isn’t socializing enough. He throws himself into his work, and it sounds so exhausting, all of that –” Martha paused, sitting a plate down at one setting. “ – science,” she finally settled on, moving to the next spot.

 

“‘ _Socializing’_?” Darcy repeated, nearly dropping a steak knife. “Does he still live in their basement or something? How old is he? Is he a harmless video game nerd or is he at a psychiatric help-level of isolation?”

 

“Slow down, Darce. He doesn’t live in their basement – he’s got his own place, I think Rebecca said in Pittsburg? Or maybe he moved back to Dayton.” Martha shrugged, setting the last plate down at Russell’s seat – the head of the table. “I’m certain he’s a bit older, though how much I don’t know – they stopped sending Christmas cards ages ago! Definitely old enough to be past the whole video game stage, I would assume.”

 

Darcy fought a smirk. No man she knew every outgrew the “video game stage.” But still. It could be something. Older doctor. The gawky, awkward 20-something scientist Darcy had been envisioning aged about ten years. Hmm. Older guys could be hot, in the right conditions, but they were also older, and if he was too old…?

 

“He’s probably stuffy and boring. He’s just going to laugh at my major and credentials,” Darcy said cynically with a shrug, placing a spoon to the left of one of the plates.

 

“Well, why don’t you give him a chance? You always lecture me on judging people I don’t know,” Martha said, her tone growing slightly serious as she leaned against the back of Russell’s chair.

 

“Yeah, well most people I don’t know aren’t Brian Banner’s son. Apples don’t fall far from trees, Ma. And as hopeful as I am he got made into a pie, I’m a little afraid he’s one of those rotten ones that fell out and are on the ground getting eaten by ants and flies.”

 

“Darcy!” Martha gasped for the umpteenth time that morning, and Darcy’s head snapped up. She was expecting a lecture about the disgusting picture she’d painted, but Martha had finally seen the arrangement of silverware around her carefully placed plates. “How many years are you going to put everything on the wrong side before you remember?”

 

Darcy glanced at the empty silverware tray in her hands, then at the place setting before her, the two forks very glaringly not on the left. She sighed.

 

“I’ll get it, I’ll get it,” Martha said, walking towards her and swiftly lifting the tray from her daughter’s hands. “You need to hurry up and change clothes before everyone starts getting here.”

 

“Seriously?”

 

“Darcy, please?” She could see, in Martha’s eyes, that she _was_ absolutely serious, for whatever reason. “You know I wouldn’t normally ask you to – you’re right, that is your sweater, and it’s tradition. But we – you – want to make a good impression. Yes?”

 

“Sure, okay,” Darcy grumbled, spinning on one heel and nearly tripping as she headed down the hall and towards the stairs.

 

Darcy was infinitely more comfortable in cardigans and baggy sweaters, especially now that she was back from New Mexico and the weather required it at all times. Her old bedroom was a mess, the contents of her large suitcase emptied in various corners of the room. A few garments from high school still hung in the closet on wire hangers, and Darcy surveyed the spread with a raised eyebrow. She’d be lucky if she could squeeze into any of the casual dresses her mother had kept; the freshman fifteen had been a real thing, and Darcy’s hips and boobs were still paying the price as she squeezed into the largest dress she could find. It had three-quarter length sleeves and a belt, which she swiftly pulled off because _ouch_ , tight. It was also boring black, so, with a smirk to herself, she dug a bright red pair of leggings out of one of her floor piles. She usually used them as a layering piece under her jeans in the cold, but with the dress and her favorite black booties, she looked festive and classy, with the usual Darcy Lewis flair.

 

It was so stupid, really, going to all this trouble so her dad could look good for his supervisor. Especially when the guy was a huge dick to his employees and his sweet-as-pie ( _heh_ ) wife. Obviously, Martha wasn’t telling her something. There had to be a reason she was presenting her like some kind of debutante at their annual Christmas party. Darcy reapplied her lipstick – red, of course, because she couldn’t resist showing off her lips – and frowned at her reflection. Darcy didn’t like others putting her on display, especially when she was being shown in, objectively, a less flattering light. Darcy drew enough attention on her own, between her inappropriate comments, formed through brightly-hued lips, and her unique taste in Christmas sweaters. She’d weasel the reasoning out of Martha somehow, later. But now… well, now she could hear chatter and footsteps and what was unmistakably the clink of wineglasses toasting, and it was time to put on a show.

 

The main entry way was nearly cleared, the coat tree overflowing; Martha had herded everyone into the Lewis’s spacious living room, and there were nicely-dressed city workers and wives as far as the eye could see. Martha’s flawlessly-adorned Christmas tree glittered in the corner, and Bing Crosby was playing lightly in the background. So Russell had figured out how to work Darcy’s iPod dock, after all.

 

Darcy wasn’t two steps into the room before a waving arm caught her attention. Her mom and dad stood in a small cluster by one of the bay windows across the room. Just beside them, she could make out Brian’s head, but there were a few people milling about, making small talk and blocking her view. She sighed and made her way across the living room, wishing desperately she’d thought to snag herself a glass of wine before the party went to shit.

 

“Hello Darcy!” Brian bellowed once she was within plain sight; a few heads glanced up in surprise, but by now most of Mr. Banner’s coworkers were well aware of his volume level. He was an excitable guy. What an excuse.

 

“Hey, Mr. Banner,” she said with a small wave. “Mrs. Banner,” she added to the short gray-haired woman next to him.

 

“Robert, this is our lovely daughter, Darcy,” Martha said proudly, waving Darcy forward a few steps until she could see around Brian. “Darcy, this is Ro –”

 

“Bruce, please,” the man cut her off, and Darcy stared.

 

Robert “Bruce, please” Banner wasn’t quite what she’d been picturing. His hair was dark, but there was a grayness at his temples that gave him a distinguished look. Older than her, for sure, but definitely, _thankfully_ , not old enough to be her dad. He had five o’clock shadow, and his hair had been combed but seemed to want to do its own thing, curling around his ears. He was certainly attractive enough, but the best thing so far about him…

 

“Nice sweater,” Darcy said with a small grin, holding out her hand.

 

Bruce’s sweater was a dark, navy blue with white reindeer in rows across the torso. It was ugly and soft looking and perfect. _Where have you been all my life, Doctor?_ Darcy wondered dreamily. And then he had to go and open his damn mouth.

 

“It was a gift,” he said shortly; _and not my choice to wear_ was an addition he chose not to voice. The way he was clenching his jaw looked a little painful, and his eyes fell to Darcy’s hand. There was the briefest of pause, and for a second Darcy was concerned he may not know how to shake a fuckin’ hand, but he finally encased her palm in a firm grip. Two solid pumps, and he dropped her hand like a hot potato and his arms returned to his sides.

 

There was a moment of excruciatingly awkward silence. Martha ducked away, muttering something about getting the food set up, and Brian made a loud comment clearly meant only for Russell’s ears – something about zoning – which left Darcy, Rebecca, and Bruce in an uncomfortable little tableau.

 

“I hear you’ve got a degree now, Darcy?” Rebecca prompted kindly.

 

“Yep,” Darcy said, hoping her smile wasn’t too shaky; this was something she was actually proud of, though Bruce’s impression of it would be iffy. _No, you know what, screw him_ , she thought bitterly, and her smile widened slightly. “B.S. in political science.”

 

“BS in _politics_? Sounds about right,” Bruce said just loudly enough for Darcy to hear over the din of the room.

 

Darcy’s mouth fell open. She had an angry retort on her tongue, but was interrupted by the clinking of a wineglass. The room’s attention turned to the archway separating the living room from the dining area. “Lunch is ready, all!” she announced proudly. “We’ve got an extra long table this year to accommodate the new spouses and family members, but please let Russell know if you’ll need an additional chair.”

 

Russell’s coworkers and their wives went back to conversation as they drifted towards the food. Darcy spun on her heel, eager to get Dr. Asshole out of her line of sight. What kind of person goes to someone else’s house – not only as a guest, but a partygoer, someone being _fed_ – and bashes the hosts’ daughter for literally no reason other than she is there, breathing, and works in a field other than his own?

 

Martha caught Darcy’s shoulders as she rounded the corner. “Well? He’s a little rough around the edges, but Rebecca tells me he’s a veritable genius, a leader in his field – ”

 

“And a complete dick,” Darcy hissed back as Martha steered her into a chair. The elder Lewis pursed her lips but offered nothing more than what Darcy guessed was supposed to be an encouraging smile. Darcy faced her body forward, ready to dig into what was undoubtedly going to be a delicious feast, per usual, only to find herself seated right across from the wunderkind himself. His brown eyes had been fixed intently on her, but flicked away the minute she caught him staring.

 

Damn it.

 

Food dishes were carefully passed around, family style – it amazed Darcy, for all the propriety some of these people claimed, they were literally hefting a five-pound bowl of mashed potatoes over each others’ heads in the name of Christmas – and conversations resumed as everyone dug into Martha’s cooking. Everyone except Darcy and Bruce, that is, who were both ducked slightly forward, focused on eating and _not_ looking up and across the table.

 

“Darcy,” Brian suddenly said, and she reluctantly looked up to the Banner patriarch. Brian’s hair was short and just the slightest bit wavy, a few pieces carefully combed over a balding patch. His features were sharp, whereas Bruce’s held a softness likely inherited from Rebecca, but the nose and those brown eyes were the same. “I didn’t know you’d already found a job! How’d you manage that so soon after graduation?”

 

Darcy spared the briefest of glances in Bruce’s direction; he looked politely disinterested, but he had tensed up, fork suspended over his plate for a fraction of a second, and she knew he was paying close attention to every word. She smirked and looked back to his father. “Yeah, for an up-and-comer, Thor Odinson,” she said. “I did my internship with his fiancé, Dr. Jane Foster.”

 

“Why does that name sound familiar?” Rebecca chimed in.

 

“She’s an astrophysicist at Culver,” Bruce said, almost reflexively, but his voice strained at the end, and Darcy could tell he hadn’t intended on joining the conversation.

 

“Why, Robert has done quite a few research studies for Culver!” Rebecca said with a grin in Martha’s direction.

 

“That’s where I graduated,” Darcy replied with a nod, filing away for later the fact that Bruce totally knew who Jane was, and that he freaking _hated_ being called Robert – what she assumed was his real name – and it was _hilarious_. “There weren’t many internship openings, but she was looking for a research assistant to help her in New Mexico, and I figured, well, stars are pretty cool, and I was studying a bachelor of _science_ , right?” That last comment was totally on purpose, because she could see the flash of pain on Bruce’s face as she spoke. _He thinks I’m a_ total _fucking idiot_ , she mused, almost proud. _He doesn’t think I deserve it._

 

“Why, Bruce was in New Mexico too, dear!” Rebecca piped up, her voice reaching an astronomically high gushy sound.

 

“Where at?” Darcy asked, looking at Bruce expectantly.

 

“Los Diablos,” he said, reluctantly, after a beat.

 

“Puente Antiguo,” she replied with a grin. “So you weren’t that far away. I mean, hard to tell with all that sand, right?” Bruce’s response was the most adorable look of utter disdain, and Darcy was overcome with giddy pride.

 

Rebecca looked delighted. “Why ever didn’t we introduce you two sooner?”

 

“Why ever not?” Bruce said under his breath, and took a large drink from the wine glass before him. Darcy took notice of the way Rebecca’s eyes followed his action.

 

“I’m not one to discuss politics,” Brian piped up suddenly, sawing through a hunk of turkey with his knife and attracting over half the table’s attention with his booming voice, “but I’m curious to know about this fellow you’re working for. Odinson, you said?”

 

“Yeah,” Darcy said after a slight pause. “Thor Odinson. He, uh, he was involved in the lawsuit over the Holly River pollution – ”

 

“Oh, I know who he is,” Brian said with a nod, chewing his turkey obnoxiously. “Sounds like another ratty-haired tree-hugger who cares more about plants than people. What’s his stance on some of the real issues facing the state? All these new policies on education? What’s he going to do with our taxpayer dollars – support the welfare moochers and push for marijuana usage like some dirty hippie?”

 

“I – I don’t,” Darcy responded eloquently. She could feel her face flushing – out of embarrassment from the sudden attention, frustration at her lack of response, anger for Brian’s thoughtless comments.

 

Thor Odinson definitely leaned towards a liberal political view, but his environmental efforts were what had garnered Darcy’s support for him initially. Thor believed in taking care of all living creatures, big and small. He was an advocate for both animal and human rights. He was passionate. Darcy admired these traits in him, because advocacy was what motivated her to study politics in the first place. She wanted to make a change. And working for Thor was great, because his voice carried weight. He had the power and the influence to make change, and, in her opinion, he was using these powers for good. Her opinion in politicians was generally low; but she could see with her own eyes the good intentions Thor carried out every day. Darcy opened her mouth to articulate all the passionate causes swirling around her head, but Mr. Banner cut her off with a snort.

 

“Supporting him without a care, aren’t you? They don’t teach anything important in those schools anymore. They stopped before they got to his generation,” he jabbed his knife in Bruce’s direction, “and it’s been all downhill from there. This country’s going to hell in a handbasket, only gotten worse since they put that Muslim in office and let these lazy brats mooch off our tax money. Do you know how many honored veterans are in the streets in this very state, girl?” Brian’s volume had risen steadily, and his words cut like knives. Spit rained onto his plate with every word. Darcy could feel her rage simmering steadily below the surface.

 

_Don’t make a scene, don’t make a scene…_

 

Darcy’s eyes flicked to Bruce for a fraction of a second; his gaze was in his lap, his knuckles were white around his silverware, tightly gripped in his hands, but his face remained impassive. Darcy felt anger for Bruce, too, because this was it, right here; who could help acting like an asshole when that was the only example ever set for them?

 

Darcy set her hand on the table, preparing to stand and speak in retaliation, but Martha’s sudden grip on her wrist gave her pause. At the end of the day, this was for her father’s job and for public perception. Even if it meant verbal assault, even if this guy was going to tear into who she was and what she believed, while spouting racist, bigoted comments, she had to endure it to save face.

 

“Excuse me,” she said quickly, and attempted to slip out of her chair and leave the room. What actually happened: as she turned, her heel caught on the chair leg and she went sprawling forward onto the floor. Thank god for those tights, because she was pretty sure the bottom of her dress had flipped up to reveal her large, red ass. Once again, all noise in the room came to a screeching halt, and she was really tired of hearing dead silence ring in her ears for one day. As carefully as she could, Darcy pried herself up off the floor, ran a hand over her skirt to smooth it back in place, and tried to walk as swiftly as she could from the room, head held high.

 

All that poise melted away as she rounded the corner and headed down the hall, her gait unsteady due to the throbbing in her right ankle. She came to a stop. Where the hell was she supposed to go? Run to her room and hide like a thirteen-year-old? She couldn’t exactly escape outside, into the snow – least of all in those damn heels. God, this was a nightmare. And at this rate, she’d be lucky if her dad still held a job by the end of the day, forget having her daughter set up with the boss’s son. She shouldn’t have run out like that. She shouldn’t –

 

“Darcy.”

 

Darcy’s eyes clamped shut. _Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck_. Of all the people she _didn’t_ want to see right now…

 

“Heya, Doc,” she said with forced casualness, slowly turning to face Bruce and willing her face to not look like an over-ripened tomato. Bruce stood a few feet away, mouth set in a hard line, regarding Darcy with a funny expression on his face. “What can I do ya for?”

 

Bruce exhaled deeply through his nose, shifted from one foot to the other. “Look, I just…” He paused, eyes focused on her left collarbone. “I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

 

“Peachy,” she said, unconvincing to her own ears. It was almost satisfying to see Bruce looking unsure, unconfident. Before he’d been harsh, and now he was like a dog with his tail between his legs. “Nothing’s bruised but my ego. And probably my ankle.”

 

“I could take a look?” Bruce said, and it almost sounded as if he were posing the question to himself.

 

“It’s just twisted, not floating through space and time,” she quipped. At his raised eyebrow, she sighed. “Physicist? You know, the _study_ of space and time?”

 

“Right – uh – one of my degrees is in biology,” he told her, scratching the back of his neck self-consciously. “I’ve worked with medical teams in impoverished nations to treat disease.”

 

“So how’d your parents manage to drag you back to Bumfuck, West Virginia for a holiday party when you’re out being a hero?”

 

“You’ve met my dad,” he said after a moment. “Mom told me he _insisted_ I come with them. And when dad says jump, you ask how high.” He smiled wryly. “But you’ve also met my mom. I knew she had lied to me the moment we were introduced.”

 

“Gotta love moms meddling in your love life,” Darcy agreed, shuffling her feet. “You know, I was totally going to wear a sweater like yours,” she added after a moment. “Mom told me not to, that today I was supposed to ‘be on my best behavior,’ like I’m in kindergarten or something. And then you show up in this wonderfully hideous thing,” he continues, making a vague sweep with her hand in the direction of his torso, “and nobody says boo.”

 

After a short pause, Bruce deadpanned, “I hate this sweater.”

 

“Yeah, well, I kind of hate you,” Darcy snarked in response, crossing her arms.

 

“You don’t even know me,” Bruce replied, his brows furrowing.

 

“Exactly! We only just met today, and you had to have known I’d been set up, same as you, and you were still a total dick to me! I didn’t ask to put on this stupid dress and be paraded around like some kind of pathetic bachelorette with ten cats and all my good childbearing years behind me. My mom’s the one who came to me all, ‘look pretty and act nice, Darcy, he’s a doctor, and Mr. Banner is a great boss to your father, and wouldn’t it just be wonderful if you got married and lived in a two-story house with a white picket fence and blessed me with ten bratty grandchildren and lived happily ever after?’” Darcy inhaled deeply, having completed her entire sentence in one breath. Bruce’s eyebrows were raised.

 

“Did she really say all that?”  


“No, but I read between the lines. Besides,” she added, blowing a lock of hair off her forehead with one carefully aimed breath, “she was under the impression this was your mom’s bright idea in the first place.”

 

Bruce ran a harried hand over his face. “She just doesn’t know when to quit,” he mumbled. “She needs to give it up,” he said at a louder volume, stuffing his fists into his pockets. “I don’t think I want that kind of thing for myself again.”

 

“What kind of thing?” Darcy asked, taking a few steps closer.  
  
“A relationship. Marriage. All of the disappointment that comes with it.”

 

Oh. _Oh_. He’d been married before.

 

“Not your first rodeo then, Doc?” Darcy asked, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. Bruce set her with a look she recalled getting often when she was in school.

 

“No,” he said with an air of finality, “but likely my last. It’s not for everyone, and I guess that includes me.”

 

He looked as if he was going to turn around. Darcy bit her cheek. “Have you told your mom that?” she asked, wincing instantly at the horrid cliché. “I mean,” she continued quickly, “my mom’s pretty full of crap, most of the time, as long as she saves face. But it kind of sounded like your mom’s just doing the mom thing, looking out for your happiness and all that.”

 

“And marriage is supposed to restore my happiness?”

 

“Sounds like a crock of shit, right?” Darcy shook her head and smoothed her hands down the front of her dress. “My mom seems to think the same for me.” She paused, and her gaze remained on her feet. “She forgets most people won’t give me the time of day once I open my mouth and spout all my ‘crazy ideas.’”

 

“Ignorance is bliss.” Darcy’s head snapped up; a smirk was playing at the corner of Bruce’s mouth. He shook his head once, licked his lips. “I, uh, I brought my own issues on myself. Caught up in work, philanthropy, living this life, marriage took the backseat. And, well…” He paused again, winced. “I’ve inherited quite a few of my dad’s better qualities.”

 

“You, an asshole? Nah.”

 

The corner of Bruce’s mouth twitched, as though he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or frown. “I was – am,” he corrected. “Had quite an anger problem for a long time, actually. Betty wasn’t a huge fan, and neither was her father. There was a lot of fighting. Which led to more work, more time apart. And then, well. There ended up not being much of a marriage to dissolve, after all.”

 

Darcy wasn’t quite sure what the appropriate response was, and as she had a habit of saying the least appropriate things at the wrong time, so naturally, she opened her mouth.

 

“Well, you won’t have anything to worry about with me, Doc. I don’t think your dad’s going to want anything to do with me or my ‘hippie’ family after today.”

 

To her surprise, Bruce’s lips turned upward. “It’s doubtful,” he agreed. Then paused. “My mom won’t give it up, though. Not a chance. Dad and I used to butt heads over the same things. I’m sure she’s overjoyed.”

 

“Mom’s worried about my dad’s job,” Darcy said, and couldn’t help the flush that went to her cheeks because _how freaking embarrassing_ , Darcy was sought for a chance at giving Bruce a happy ending, whereas Martha wanted Darcy to pursue Bruce and secure Russell’s job in one fell swoop. “She’s probably started planning our wedding.”

 

“Don’t think my mom’s not right there with her,” Bruce replied, shaking his head. “Look, I get it,” he said after a moment, and he was suddenly focused on her, eyes intense. “You want to help your dad, and probably keep your mom off your back. I know I need mine to leave me alone. What if we…” He paused again, pulled one hand from is pocket and ran it through his hair, mussing it on one side. He certainly looked the part of a mad scientist. “What if we go out – just once, even. I mean, I won’t hold you to it. Let them think we’ve hit it off, ‘go on dates,’” he said, making air quotes with his first two fingers on each hand, “keep up the charade until your dad’s job is, whatever, until that’s all settled. We’ll ‘end it’ amicably, and hopefully by that point we’ll have found something work-related, or someone else, and hopefully they’ll quit meddling in our relationships?”

 

“I know better than to think they’ll quit meddling in our relationships, Bruce,” Darcy said slowly, mulling over his words. “But, I mean, it would buy us a little time.” She paused, and the corner of her lips hiked up as she observed Bruce. “Besides… well, I could do way worse.”

 

Bruce chuckled, grimaced, scratched the back of his neck self-consciously, and muttered, “Oh, god.”

 

“Now give me your phone,” Darcy instructed, grinning. “We have to make this official.”

 

“I… uh, just have my work cell, and I don’t carry it with me,” Bruce said to his feet, shoving his hands back into his pockets.

 

“Well I’m not going to write it on your arm like we’re thirteen,” Darcy replied. “Don’t you have a business card or something, _Doctor_ Banner?”

 

He was flushed, and his jaw was set, which Darcy took to mean he was trying to decide if she was annoying him or not. Her grin deepened. This was too fun. Bruce extracted his wallet from down in his pocket and flipped it open. His fingers danced through a couple of bills before he pulled out a thin slip of paper and handed it to her.

 

It was a receipt from CVS. Three-pack of razors, deodorant, 3-in-one body wash. Well, at least she knew he was clean. “Pen?” she prompted sweetly.

 

His eyebrow hiked, and he sighed deeply and fished a hand under his sweater. He produced one after some fumbling. “How did you know I – ”

 

“You’re a mad scientist, why wouldn’t you have a pen on you at all times?” Darcy challenged, taking it from him and turning away to hold the receipt against the wall. “Plus, I mean, I could kind of see it sticking out under your sweater. Unless you just have one long, prominent nipple.” She began to write on the back of it. “And anyway, your shirt collar is sticking out. Shirts with collars have chest pockets. Chest pockets were _made_ to hold pens. Amiright?” She signed her name with a flourish and turned back to Bruce, pen held loosely between two fingertips. “Call me Sherlock Holmes, because I just deduced the shit out of you.”

 

Bruce took the pen back after a beat, looking like he was fighting the grin forming on his face, and tried to pry the sweater loose to slip the pen underneath. It took three attempts, and his face was very red when Darcy finally held the receipt up to his face. “Don’t try and pull that ‘three day rule’ bullshit with me, okay? I’m impatient.”

 

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Darcy.”

 

That was when Martha made an appearance, finding the two standing close together and blushing profusely. Darcy could see the wheels in her head turning.

 

“I wondered where you two had gotten off to!” she said, as though she hadn’t been waiting around the corner, ready to pry at a moments’ notice. Her eyes flicked between the two. “Everyone’s settled back into the living room and we’re about to start passing dessert around – I wondered, Rob– Bruce, if you might like to try some of the fruitcake Darcy made?”

 

Darcy’s face immediately drained of color. Every Christmas, she made a huge fruitcake for herself and herself only, because for some reason she was the only person who liked eating the food she considered a holiday tradition. She’d long ago abandoned any hope of being charitable with the dessert, because most of the time people scoffed at her taste and turned up their nose. Frankly, it was a little embarrassing, which is why she usually hid it and enjoyed it in private. And now, here was one more thing that would put that disdainful look on Bruce’s face. Just as they’d been hitting it off, finally – _flirting_ , Darcy would go as far to say –

 

“I’d love some, Martha, thank you,” Bruce replied smoothly, interrupting Darcy’s internal monologue of regret and despair. She couldn’t help the shocked look that popped onto her face at his words, because _what?_

 

Martha gave a short laugh and started towards the kitchen, turning her head to face them as she walked as if to beckon the two to follow her. “I daresay you’ll have it all to yourselves!” she quipped over her shoulder.

 

When Bruce turned his head back to Darcy, he was met with a frozen look of disbelief. “Yes?” he asked patiently.

 

Darcy shook her head once, her face flushing. “Nothing,” she mumbled. “Just, uh… You don’t have to humor me.”

 

“Oh, I’m not,” he replied smoothly, placing his hand at the small of her back and giving a gentle push, leading her towards the kitchen. “I love fruitcake.” Darcy didn’t complain about his herding, because for some strange reason, her legs suddenly felt like Jell-o.

 

“Doc, this is going to go just fine.”

**Author's Note:**

> Because I feel I'd be remiss if I didn't post the link to the specific post: here's the list of prompts I browsed as I formulated this fic. Check out this whole tumblr to formulate your own ideas. Happy shipping! http://fanficy-prompts.tumblr.com/post/119989966300/just-imagine-your-otp-ship-left-alone-in-a-pizza


End file.
